Christianity & Culture

Tag: Theology

Reimagining the evangelical tradition to include voices that have been obscured isn’t just good for marginalized Christians—it’s good for all Christians. Theology from every context offers valuable contributions. The mature theologian takes his or her seat at the table of theological discourse and both enriches and is enriched by the exchange. Different perspectives taken together embody a more robust vision of faithfulness and affection for Christ than they could ever manage alone.

-Walter Strickland in a recent Gospel Coalition article. This article provokes several questions that are becoming increasingly more difficult to ask. The article describes a central idea that American Christian history has been predominantly focused upon white Christian accomplishments, to the point of marginalizing serious theological figures from minority communities. He provides a brief bio of Charles Octavius Boothe, an astute theological mind who was born into slavery during the 19th century, and concludes with some reflections about learning as a black male in a predominately white theological tradition.

“Theology from every context offers valuable contributions.” This statement is an assumption of cultural relativism that doesn’t seem well supported by evidence. Diversity can provide needed perspective to theological discussion, but diverse contexts will not necessarily offer value.

I suppose Strickland could counter, as he does in his article: This is because “history is recounted by the wealthy and powerful.” Ergo, history will necessarily be skewed in a certain direction. This point, however, collapses upon itself when you consider that Strickland is attempting to undertake this very task. All Cretans are liars, the Cretan poet says. Should we trust him?

This reminds me of the objection that history is impossible to do objectively because historians are unable to extricate themselves from their subjective starting points. But the show carries on. N.T. Wright contends that what we need here a kind of epistemological realism, a basis for walking out into the tall grass of historical work without overly cautious concerns of being bitten by the snakes of our postmodern subjective sensibilities. In other words, yes, I have a point of view, but I don’t believe that this will obscure my vision so badly that I am unable to think objectively about my presuppositions.

To continue, perhaps the most important part of his article details Strickland’s experience of being a black male learning in an educational environment fostered by predominantly white men:

My theological education offered me a love for Scripture and a theological framework, but it unintentionally taught me that people of color have little to contribute to theological discussions. I had well-intended white professors who assigned white authors and invited white guest lecturers. In order to become more like my Caucasian professors, I began to squelch everything in me that didn’t correspond to them in order to do “real theology.” I began stripping away my blackness in order to fit the evangelical theological mold. At that time, I only entertained theological inquiry that emerged from culturally white space; I developed a bias against African-American theologians; and I belittled the rich heritage of the black church. I was miserable.

Since these considerations are so laden with moral freight, Strickland must, in my opinion, do a much better job describing what ‘stripping away his blackness’ or ‘culturally white space’ means. Only then would we be able to understand why he belittled the rich heritage of the black church. NB, where can we derive a theological basis for ‘the black church’ in the New Testament?

Furthermore, I’ve read similar accounts across a variety of disciplines, and it is interesting to note how seriously subjective the account is. This is not to say that the account is unimportant, but it is significant to insist that the real issue is not the history per se, but the manner in which the student is processing his current cultural experience in light of that history.

This experience is no doubt paralleled by Asian and Latino Americans, not to mention Native Americans. The absence of an institutionalized Christian ethos embodied by your ethnic community doesn’t provide you the basis for positing one.

Strickland further made an interesting point about cultural context:

Boothe demonstrates that theology can emerge from various contexts. In evangelical circles, however, certain contexts have been given almost exclusive priority. Formal theology has been disproportionately conducted by white men, and their perspective has been standardized. Thus “well-read” evangelicals can gain that label despite never interacting with theologically faithful traditions outside the dominant evangelical culture.

Again, are we asking historians to expand the horizons of their interest, or are we asking them to assume that for every white theologian you will find an equal and opposite black/Asian/latino theologian? Strickland continues:

By normalizing a particular context, issues that arise outside of that context are often dismissed as illegitimate. In fact, theological development from non-white contexts are often only deemed “proper” when they engage issues pertinent to white culture and conform to “authorized” conclusions. This explains why issues that disproportionately affect non-white communities—like systemic injustice, racial oppression, economic inequality, and human rights—have received scattered engagement among evangelical theologians and ethicists.

And here is where we hit a real ideological roadblock, one I am not sure I understand. We have come full circle back to the assumption: “Theology from every context offers valuable contributions.” I won’t even ask what ‘white culture’ means in this context, because it seems like Strickland has leapt into the present. Suddenly, buzzwords in the discussions surrounding racial tensions are being brandished as relevant to the quite tenuous discussion of historical representation in the church.

I suppose the best way to represent this is to say that Strickland says black people were being ignored in the past and they are being ignored now. I’m not trying to dispute that contention. I am trying to dispute whether “being ignored” means that we should always expect to be finding a black, Asian, Native American, Latino, or female Jonathan Edwards in every chapter of Christian history. If so, that is an ideological fantasy that does no justice to minority communities. Rather than being examined according to their individual merits, they will be lumped, always and forever, into groups and considered only within these groups. True merit will be masked by the shade of identity politics. Strickland honors Charles Boothe in his article, not by pointing to the color of his skin, but by examining his life on the basis of how he employed the limited resources he had.

I reserve the right to disagree with myself at another time, but I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking through Strickland’s article. I have a great respect for the folks at The Gospel Coalition, so I was eager to have this out of my head and open to scrutiny. Please let me know if you have any comments or clarifications to offer in the comments section below.

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Whenever I find them, I will try to watch or listen to roundtable discussions composed of my favorite authors or speakers. I sometimes find these attached to larger conferences, variously described as Q & A or open forums. At the best of times, I’ll find a relaxed and serendipitous conversation, where thinkers will address a range of topics they haven’t necessarily covered in their writing and speaking.

I’d like to share two such talks in this post. The first is a round-table discussion between the notorious Four Horsemen of the New Atheism movement, Christopher Hitchens, Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, and Daniel Dennett. Apparently the title of the video, “The Four Horsemen” was its inaugural use. While I like these guys quite a bit more than they would like me, what I appreciated about this video was the opportunity to see these men interacting on areas of agreement and, most interesting to me, areas of disagreement. I have read quite a bit of Dawkins and have always found him more enjoyable in print that in person. I admire the late Christopher Hitchens the most of the lot, primarily because of his candor and interest in granting fair representation of those whom he (sometimes vehemently) disagrees with. Though their rhetoric can occasionally be taxing to this pious Christian, I find interacting with their challenges to be mostly enjoyable.

The second video is a discussion between pastors and theologians, John Piper, Doug Wilson, Sam Storms, and Jim Hamilton. The two hour session was called An Evening of Eschatology. The four men interact on various views regarding what Scripture says about things to come. The discussion is situated around the various positions on the millennium referenced in Revelation 20 (Wilson- postmillennial, Storms- amillennial, Hamilton- premillennial, with Piper serving as moderator), so you have a unique opportunity to see how the positions compare in the context of a passionate yet irenic debate.

If you’re in to this sort of thing, drop a line into the comments of any talks you’d recommend. I’ve enjoyed these discussions across a variety of subjects including history, theology, politics, science, ethical issues, etc. I’ll try to share more as time allows.

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This guest post is written by Matt Bulman. Matt works construction, spends time with his wife and three boys, and follows Jesus with the people at Harvest Bible Chapel in Winston Salem, North Carolina.

“And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the Garden.” Genesis 3:8

We hear the sound of him walking in the cool of the day. He is searching for us, wanting to walk and talk. Wanting us to be near him and know that he is God, to know that he is for us. To show us there is none like him. But we stay hidden. We hide because I am ashamed in front of you and you are ashamed to be seen by me. What’s more terrifying is the thought of him seeing us.

Why do we hide? Of course he knows about us, knows what we’ve done. He has known the whole time, and now you know about me and I know about you. We found out that both of us have power to destroy what is supposed to be good. With two quick bites, innocence is dead. Guilt and distrust now live in its place. Yesterday we walked with him in the garden, the two of us in perfect unity with him. We sang for him and he sang over us while we all laughed and danced. Didn’t it feel good? Wasn’t it perfect? Why won’t we come out from these bushes?

I didn’t know then what I know about me now. Or what I know about you. He is calling to us, looking for that communion again. Maybe it is best to hide here, stay in these shadows, close to you but somehow still far away. I can’t go out there because he will see me, and see you. If we walk out into that light he won’t love me anymore, and if you really see me, neither will you. I don’t want to be alone, don’t want to lose these last little pieces of what he made that was so good. The terror of losing it all keeps my feet planted behind these scrubby shrubs.

I want to look at you, to feel what we felt this morning, to feel the world whirl when I look into your eyes. But I can’t lift my eyes to meet your gaze. I’m scared of what is there now, scared of the blame, the hurt, and the pain. I’m afraid you will see it in my eyes too. How do we get there? Back to when it was good, back when this tangled mess was Eden. Let’s just hide here and maybe he will go and we can work it out later. I can hide this hurt inside, I can fix Eden, and next week when he comes back he will be happy with us. He is still out there calling my name; why doesn’t he leave?

There is something in his voice that wasn’t there yesterday, something new I haven’t heard before. His voice is permeated with notes of hurt and anger, and hints of longing and love. Like your voice a few minutes ago. It sounds like he really wants us to come out of the dark and into the light. Every time we slither back a little further into the weeds he seems a little closer. Each thorn-prick induced gasp, every stone-bruised muffled curse is echoed with another step from our Father. He is gaining ground and his voice is more insistent than ever.

I pull back a limb so we can see more clearly, and there he is. Nose to nose, eye to eye, tear to tear. God himself, looking into my soul through my eyes, and asking questions that I don’t want to answer. I can blame you, you can blame me, maybe we can blame the devil. This shame won’t hide from him anymore though. It’s right out front, easy for him to see. Why does he look at us like that? Can’t he see what we have done? We ruined it all. Why won’t he just leave us alone?

His anger seemed to melt as soon as our eyes met, but that love and longing is still there. It’s mingled with tears and something else. He knows. I can see it in those eyes. He knows it all but he still loves. We can walk out now. Out of the dark and into the marvelous light. I can lay down my shame, you can lay down yours. The breeze is blowing and I catch the scent of the tree of life’s tantalizing blossoms, overpowering the aftertaste of the knowledge of good and evil. Come on baby, let’s go out there. He is waiting, calling us by name, and we’ve got nothing left to lose.

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Why is it often easier for us to acknowledge our sins before God than before another believer? God is holy and without sin, a just judge of evil, and an enemy of all disobedience. But another Christian is sinful, as are we, knowing from personal experience the night of secret sin. Should we not find it easier to go to one another than to the holy God? But if that is not the case, we must ask ourselves whether we often have not been deluding ourselves about our confession of sin to God- whether we have not instead been confessing our sins to ourselves and also forgiving ourselves. And is not the reason for our innumerable relapses and for the feebleness of our Christian obedience to be found precisely in the fact that we are living from self-forgiveness and not from the real forgiveness of our sins? Self-forgiveness can never lead to the break with sin. This can only be accomplished by God’s own judging and pardoning Word.